


Tainted

by BiancaCastafarina



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiancaCastafarina/pseuds/BiancaCastafarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tintin and Haddock have had a father/son-like relationship for a long time, but realize that they want more. A lot more. Warning for dub-con and gratuitous naughtiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

„ _Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore!'_ "

And with a dramatic _thud_ Captain Haddock closed the weighty poetry tome.

„That was great, Captain!" Tintin grinned. They both sat on the livingroom sofa in front of the fireplace. He was half leaning against the back and armrest, half draped over Haddock's lap as the older man was reading to him from one of his favorite books. Snowy lay asleep on a rug close to the crackling, slowly decreasing fire.

Actually he wished he could sit there like this just a little longer. He loved it when the Captain read stories to him this way – his deep, rumbling voice, hoarse from years of smoking captivated Tintin in a way that had at first confused him, then left him wanting more. Somehow, years ago, the habit of Haddock reading stories to Tintin had evolved. Not the childrens' stories of course, but the serious, grown-up literature - Gustave Flaubert, Ernest Hemingway, Guy de Maupassant, Charles Dickens...

It was one of the few occasions Tintin could legitimately be this close to Haddock.

And how close he was! Sitting diagonally over the man's lap he had one arm draped around Haddock's shoulders along the back of the sofa, and almost felt Haddock's words resonating in his chest. It was wonderful – when else did he have the occasion to look at the timeworn, weathered yet handsome face for hours? He wanted to touch the black hair, the black beard, gaze deeply in those sea blue eyes.

Tintin sighed. He could not, must not think of it any more. Ever since they had met, Haddock had seen Tintin as his son. Although the latter was in most cases the more mature and wise of the two, he had never had a real father, no one who'd been there for him the way Haddock was, no one whom he could trust so readily and completely.

„Tintin, are you all right?"

If something was on Tintin's mind, Haddock was quick to notice. At least when he was sober.

„Ah... I was just thinking..." Yes, what had that been? It had been longing rather than thinking, but he quickly found a reply. „I was wondering what this 'Nepenthe' is that the protagonist in the poem uses. Do you think he was a drug addict?"

„Who knows?" Haddock laughed. „Edgar Allan was quite nuts, so they say. Wouldn't surprise me if he was doing all sorts of substances."

„Would you read another one to me? How about 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue'? Please?" Tintin smiled, looking at him pleadingly. „Please? Yes?"

It took Haddock a few moments, as usual, to decline. „Lad, it's close to midnight. You need to sleep. And so do I."

Tintin pouted. He knew very well how childish his behaviour was but he could not help it. They had cast themselves into these roles. To his credit, he mused, he was like this only when they were alone, when no one saw them. It was their secret, their very own little ritual.

Tintin hated to get up, to interrupt the close embrace, but he had to. It was over for today.

He went to his bedroom, putting on his pajama, still looking forward to the day's last ritual.

As he brushed his teeth in the bathroom he wondered what the Captain would think or say if he knew. He might not be the best example in temper and self-control, but he was one of the most honest and decent people Tintin had ever met. What would he think of Tintin's dirty fantasies? Surely he would throw him out of Marlinspike Hall in an instant, and the idea made Tintin's stomach squirm.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror – a very young looking but in fact already twenty-two year old man, his round, bright green eyes contributing to his innocent looks. If Haddock knew – if people only knew! - that he was so far removed from the virtuous image he always projected. It was fine as long as he kept it to himself, he knew that. But if there was one person who relied on Tintin to be the image of impeccable and pure moral, it was the Captain.

The very person he was desiring in his thoughts, and _that_ was wrong. No matter with whom. The nuns at the orphanage and school had said so, showed him proof in the Holy Bible, and each time he had felt relief he wasn't that way. That he wasn't one of those deviant, scary homosexuals.

Until he met the Captain.

Tintin looked at himself in the mirror with a scowl of disgust.

How could he even get the idea that Haddock might be interested in young men as him? He'd mentioned adventures and affairs with women in his former days at sea, and Tintin had never asked for more details, for he knew the truth would sting him.  
No, Haddock was pure at heart. To confess his feelings for the older man would mean to change the relationship they had. Their bond would be tarnished.

Tainted.

He washed his face then rubbed it dry with a towel. When he went to his bedroom, Haddock was already there, waiting for him, wearing his usual blue pajama.

As always.

Tintin laid down on the lavish pillow-covered four-poster-bed, and Haddock tucked the duvet around him. He caressed Tintin's hair with one warm, calloused hand, and as always Tintin had to make a conscious effort to keep himself from pressing his cheek against the man's palm, from brushing his lips and tongue over the only so slightly sweaty skin and fingers.

Then the hand was gone, and Haddock bent down to place a chaste kiss on Tintin's forehead. „Good night, lad. Sweet dreams." He stood up, ready to leave.

„Captain..." Tintin muttered, propping himself up on his elbows as Haddock went toward the door.

„Hm?" The older man turned around.

He looked at Haddock, eyes wide open. Why was his mind in such a confused, emotional state? It must be this late hour, the effect of the night, simultaneously intoxicating and wearying him. Usually they went to bed earlier.

„Um..." Tintin said. „Nothing." Quickly he turned around on the bed.  
With a low _click_ , the light went out.

Tintin lay quietly under the cover, acutely remembering how the warm, dry lips had touched the heated skin of his forehead. Yes, he decided, it must be the late hour. But this time the warmth did not leave his cheeks and stomach.

_The Devil does it to test you._

Each time he gave in to those urges he was harming himself, even sullying the other without his knowledge. But he had never been able to stop himself. He turned around restlessly in one last attempt to make the need go away, but then lay belly-down, pressing his pelvis against the mattress.

_It is a sin against God._

The warm friction was marvellous. Breathing a low sigh he rubbed his lower body up and down the mattress, then remembered the paper handkerchiefs expertly hidden in a box under the bed, and reaching down he awkwardly grabbed a few of them.

„ _Ohh, mon Capitaine-!"_

He was getting closer, rutting against the soft bedsheet, vivid images of Haddock in his mind. That one time when he'd seen him half naked...

_It is lewd and filthy._

Anger mingled with his desperation, and he quickly clasped his erection with a handkerchief-armed grip, stroking himself, rubbing fast.

He came with a muffled groan, pressing his face into the pillow.

Still breathing hard he lay there, heartbeat slowing, mind clearing. The disgust he knew all too well washed over him. He whispered a curse, throwing the soiled paper kerchief onto the floor (he always collected them and threw them in the kitchen wastebin very early in the morning before Haddock ever got up), and using another to wipe himself clean.

He barely noticed them anymore, the tears moistening his pillow, before he feel asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Haddock was proud of himself.  
  
Ever since a seventeen-year-old, too-cute-for-his-own-good ginger-haired Belgian had tumbled through the Captain's cabin's porthole, that lad had inspired him to be a better man. He had rearranged his life, reasserted control over his ship and himself. Even his drinking had decreased – he'd gone from a hopeless alcoholic to a refined country gentleman who appreciated a sip of aged whisky every now and then. Even water was now an option. With just a tiny splash of Loch Lomond, of course.  
  
But it was also Tintin who kept him drinking. Haddock drank to soothe his unspeakable passions, to quieten those lustful thoughts. It was clear, so very clear, that the lad saw him as a sort of substitute father, and nothing more. Didn't he actually call him „Papa" sometimes?  
  
Haddock knew he should be glad to be so close to his precious Tintin. That poor boy who'd never known his parents, who had grown up in a Catholic orphanage.  
  
And despite the sinful, horrible thoughts his brain had been generating for years Haddock was fully wrapped up in his occasional father role, and enjoying it. Tintin was so comfortable around him as with no one else, letting Haddock embrace and hold him, read stories to him, care for him. Tintin, that otherwise incredibly strong and independent – blistering barnacles, he was actually more mature than Haddock! - young man, showing him his vulnerable, childlike side – wasn't that quite a proof of unconditional trust?  
  
Haddock hated himself for secretly fantasizing about abusing that trust in the name of love. He knew Tintin would hardly resist if Haddock were to give in to old, long suppressed desire. Tintin was innocent, unexperienced and utterly clueless. He'd be confused, but he would not resist, trusting the older man completely, certain he wouldn't get hurt.  
  
 _„Shht, relax", Haddock mutters, voice soothing, as his right hand crawls up Tintin's shirt, feeling taut, tensing muscles under smooth skin; and his other hand reaches into the lad's undershorts, sensing him twitch. For a moment Tintin shifts uncomfortably under the man's touch, but stays still when Haddock's mouth is on his, kissing him. Tintin is fresh and sweet, the taste of innocence, and he does not know how to kiss. When their mouths separate Tintin's breath has quickened. „Captain?" he asks, „what... what are you doing?"_  
  
Haddock cursed. He needed a whisky, right now.  
  
This evening he was alone in front of the fireplace – Tintin was in the study room, hammering forth on his typewriter – reading a book, but it was unbearably boring. After the first fifty pages of „Atlas Shrugged" he put it away onto the shelf, concluding that no one had ever become a capitalist just by reading this sleep-inducing pile of words.  
  
A drink. Now.  
  
Too often had the pretty, enticing image of Tintin invaded the dark abyss of his thoughts today.  
  
The demons had to be calmed.  
  
He went into the kitchen, cursing when the Siamese cat attempted to make him stumble. There, on the pantry's topmost shelf where curious little white dogs couldn't reach it, stood a large wooden box containing several bottles of Loch Lomond. Haddock fetched the ladder, climbed up a few steps, and opened the box.  
  
It was empty.  
  
He stared. What – his whisky-?!  
  
 _My whisky!_  
  
He looked back, then into the box again. It was empty as a revenant's grave. Empty as the abyss that had stared back at Nietzsche.  
  
„Thundering empty thousand typhoons", he bellowed, climbing down from the ladder. „NESTOR! Nestooooor!"  
  
The loyal butler came running into the kitchen, feather duster still in hand. „What is it, sir?"  
  
„The whisky! Gone! Disappeared! Apocalypse! End of the world!" Haddock panicked. „Nestor, have you relocated it? Tell me it's still in this house! Where is my whisky?"  
  
Nestor put on a pensive look. „I remember having met Mr Tintin this morning. The young master was going to town and kindly took it upon himself to deliver several whisky bottles which he claimed to be empty to the nearest glass collection bin."  
  
Haddock stared at him. „Tintin?"  
  
„Why, yes, I do believe so, sir."  
  
Abruptly Haddock turned around, having forgotten all manners over the anger and disbelief that someone in this house – in this very house! - had dared touch and remove his beloved Loch Lomond. He stomped upstairs, and went straight into the study room.  
  
The young reporter was diligently at work in the large, cozy library with the leather sofa and armchair. Important work, but Haddock did not care right now. „Tintin!"  
  
The lad looked up in surprise. Innocent, ginger-lashed green eyes regarded Haddock with a puzzled look.  
  
Haddock stepped right in front of him, and Tintin stood up, still not comprehending. „Captain, what-?"  
  
„What did you do to my whisky?!"  
  
Tintin's eyes became wider, and he blushed like a schoolboy caught at a prank red-handed. But then he quickly gathered his wits, and put on his most serious voice. „You need to quit this habit, Captain. Drinking every day is bad for you." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he returned Haddock's stare with an unwavering, defiant gaze.  
  
Haddock was flabbergasted. „You- you didn't-!"  
  
„Yes, I did. No more whisky in this house."  
  
For a moment he felt compelled to grab Tintin's collar and shake him. How dare he! Haddock wasn't someone who could easily control his temper. But never before had it been so fully directed at Tintin, and that scared him. He took a deep breath, pointing a finger at Tintin's face. „Listen, lad, you're gonna fix this. You're gonna get me new whisky until tomorrow."  
  
„No." There was just the slightest hint of insecurity in Tintin's voice. „It's bad for you."  
  
„Blistering barnacles!" Haddock was not ready to believe it. „Have you gone insane? You can't- you just don't do this! Tintin, you can't just deprive a man of his favorite drink! That's not- that is-!"  
  
„You'll be fine, Captain."  
  
Anger overtook Haddock. „Don't you dare, young whippersnapper! You're gonna replace every single of those bottles! Every single one! Now! Or I'll... I will..."  
  
Tintin raised an eyebrow, still serious, but his stance betrayed uneasiness. „Or what?"  
  
„You will replace the whisky!"  
  
„No!"  
  
This was the last drop that made the barrel spill over.  
  
Haddock lunged forward, grabbing Tintin's collar, and dragged him toward the sofa. The boy was too surprised to protest. Before he managed to struggle, the Captain had already pulled him diagonally across his lap, and held him down by the neck with one strong, work-toughened hand.  
  
„Captain", Tintin cried out, fighting vainly against Haddock's grip that fixated him firmly on the older man's lap, „what are you doing, what-"  
  
The flat palm of Haddock's other hand hit Tintin's bottom with full force.  
  
 _Slap._  
  
„Ow!" Tintin howled. „Captain!"  
  
Haddock hit him again, and pain resonated dully in his hand as it connected with Tintin's behind. It probably hurt. But right now he wanted to, needed to teach the kid a lesson, and a part of him was horrified at the unleashing of only seemingly tamed demons. The demons had never been truly bridled.  
  
 _Slap! Slap!_  
  
The first few wallops had still made Tintin shout, but now he seemed determined to keep quiet, merely gritting his teeth with every impact.  
  
„Say you will replace the whisky", Haddock growled.  
  
„No!"  
  
Haddock was not sure what to do. Tintin struggled and squirmed in his lap, stopping his movements only when Haddock tightened the grip on the boy's nape. He hit him again, and this time his hand lingered on Tintin's mishandled backside a second longer than necessary, feeling its soft roundness, accentuated rather than hidden by the lad's high-waisted plus fours.  
  
The Captain continued slapping him with less force, distracted and disturbed that something else was getting hard.  
  
His erection was nudging Tintin's stomach.  
  
 _Stop. Now._  
  
Thundering typhoons in heaven and beyond, Tintin must not notice! Or was it too late-? – had he noticed-?  
  
„Captain..." Tintin's voice sounded whiny, „stop it, please!"  
  
That was it. The lad was no longer stubborn and defiant. Haddock loosened his hand. „All right, get up!" he growled. „That's enough."  
  
Shakily Tintin scrambled to his feet. His eyes were moist and shiny, and his lips pressed together in a line.  
  
„We'll talk tomorrow", Haddock said, still sitting on the sofa, learning forward a bit so his aroused state was less evident.  
  
Tintin nodded, wiping his eyes. The hurt look in his face tore at Haddock's heart, and made him feel even more miserable to have gotten excited when he'd had the boy at his mercy.  
  
At least he had not gone further. Whatever the demons whispered to him, he could never harm Tintin.  
  
Yet when Tintin turned around and walked out of the study room Haddock's gaze lingered on the lad's bottom in the old-fashioned pants, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize for the rough treatment. If only he could pull down those pants, caress that backside which he imagined to be peachy-smooth, with the gentlest touch he was capable of, ask it for forgiveness, kiss it better, and promise to never hit it again.  
  
The door closed with a low _click._


	3. Chapter 3

Tintin closed the bedroom door behind him, sniffling and wiping his nose. Snowy looked up at him, head tilted, a worried look in his deep, dark eyes.

„I'm such a fool", Tintin muttered. „Don't look at me like that, Snowy. Be glad you know nothing of such things." He ruffled through the terrier's white fur, then lay down on his bed. Tears rolled from the corners of his eyes, moistening the silken sheets. How often had he dreamt of him and the Captain sharing those sheets, heated naked bodies pressed onto each other, and making love, sweet love, until the morning hours. Why did the most sinful desire have to be the most alluring?

If only the Captain would just do it to him. Then Tintin would not share any responsibility. He could just let it happen, without guilt and repercussions for his conscience. If Haddock lost control, and simply forced him-

„ _Captain, what are you doing-" Tintin gasps, trapped under the older man's weight. He's pressing him down into the mattress, pushing Tintin's naked thighs open. There is no escape. Tintin fights back, the only way he can retain a semblance of virtue for his conscience's sake, but readily lets the Captain hold his wrists down, kiss and bite his neck. He surrenders; and when he feels the man's hardness pushing against his entrance Tintin's body relaxes, wanting and ready._

He wished, desperately longed for the Captain to lose control. That was the only way a decent man like Haddock, who usually did not even fancy young men, could ever do this with Tintin.

Alcohol did not work, Tintin knew that. Other men had made inappropiate advances toward him under the influence of drink, but Haddock merely became either especially lively, endlessly recounting sailor anecdotes in a chaotic manner interspersed with hiccups, or he became tearful and depressed, mumbling incoherent sentences about "my poor mother".

So Tintin had tried it the other way around. He had removed the alcohol from the pantry. It was only a matter of time until Haddock would find out, and Tintin knew he'd be angry. He had challenged the Captain, provoked him like a stubborn child, but the subsequent spanking had not quite been what he'd hoped for.

Sure, he'd been subdued, held down by the other, but it had stopped too soon. Hadn't he felt Haddock getting aroused? No, that must have been his imagination. It was he himself who'd felt the rush, the excitement.

Anticipating things to spiral out of control, but it had not happened.

And his arousal had given place to disappointment.

Tintin sighed. Usually he knew how to get what he wanted. Damn his fears, his inexperience, the chiding voices of the nuns, the threats of the priests painting pictures of Hell!

He might not be able to express what he wanted this time, but at least he had to reconcile with Haddock.

Tintin got up and left the room.

To his surprise Haddock was still in the study, sitting on the sofa, apparently deep in thought.

„Captain? I'm sorry."

Haddock lifted his head, looking at Tintin. He nodded. „Come here, son."

 _Son._ There it was again. Tintin must not ruin it. They might never be lovers, but _this_ , this was worthwhile too. Anything as long as he could stay with the Captain.

He sat next to him. „I'm sorry, Captain, I really am. I have to confess something."

„Yes?"

„Your whisky isn't gone. It's in my old apartment, in Rue de Labrador."

Haddock's eyes widened. Then he smiled, and caressed Tintin's cheek. „I knew it, lad. You would never throw away my precious whisky."

„I'll drive there, and bring it back. Today."

„Wait, before you leave. Tell me, lad, are you really so worried about my drinking habit?" He tilted his head, intensely gazing at Tintin. „Am I that difficult to deal with when I've had too much? Barnacles! you know you don't have to put up with everything. But the alcohol is my own vice, and I intend to keep it."

„I just don't want you to die of it!" Tintin blurted out. His face heated up, and he looked down at his knees. „I want to become old with you!" The last few words were a mumble.

Silence stood in the room like an awkwardly built wall. Then Haddock reached out with his arms, and embraced him. Tintin pushed into the embrace, hugging his own arms around the Captain's broad stature, deeply inhaling the familiar scent of tobacco, whisky and sweat. He heard the Captain's quiet voice, sensed its rumble in the man's chest. „It's all right, Tintin. I'm always here for you. D'you hear, lad? I'll never leave you. No matter how much I drink. I'm with you."

Tintin felt tears well up in his eyes again. _If you knew. Would you really stay with me if you knew what I long for?_ His lips trembled, and heaviness constricted his throat. He began to cry.

„Tintin?" Concern made Haddock's voice an octave higher. „What's the matter? Tintin!? Have I been too rough? Thundering typhoons, Tintin, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

He felt Haddock's hand around his waist, going down to the small of his back, but unable to reach the lad's bottom since he sat on it, then the hand retracted.

Sniffling, Tintin removed his face from the Captain's sweater so they could see each other's eyes. „No, no, Captain, it's just... I'm just-"

„What, Tintin?" Haddock's eyes were full of worry.

„You're my Papa, right?"

„Of course, my lad. Of course I'm your Papa."

There was one more possibility. It was naughty, and Tintin blushed when he got up from the sofa, but it was the only chance. Locking his gaze with Haddock's, he rubbed his behind with one hand, and muttered, „It still hurts."

Haddock made a surprised, „Oh?"

„You weren't gentle."

„Ah, Tintin." Now the Captain was blushing beneath his beard. „I'm sorry. I can... um, we can... put some silicea balm on it... if you want?" He seemed flustered, and Tintin had to suppress a smile behind his pouting facade.

_Yes! Success!  
_

Haddock called for Nestor who immediately brought the silicea balm, a clear mineral-based cream to treat all sorts of burns, sunburns and bruises on the skin.

.

.

.

Haddock swallowed. The bottle felt cool in his hand. Of course – it had been in the refrigerator. And his hand was very warm.

He sat on the sofa and was just about to tell Tintin to stand in front of him, turning his back to him, so the boy's round ass was directly in front of his face; but he didn't have to say a word. Tintin already stood there, presenting him his backside and fumbling with the buttons on his plus fours.

Haddock's heart was beating wildly. He hadn't hit Tintin that hard, had he? But if it hurt...

He didn't understand. Why had Tintin cried? Was he truly so afraid to lose his Captain?

Tintin finished unbuttoning, and slowly slid his pants down along with his underwear. Haddock wiped his brow. If he didn't know any better – if he didn't know how upright and virtuous Tintin was, he would have called it 'teasing'.

The lad's pretty bottom was right in front of his face, mere centimeters away. Indeed! It was smooth, the creamy-light skin slightly reddened where he'd slapped it. Two perfect, beautiful, round buttocks, and he'd hurt them.

Haddock dared not breathe, afraid to betray his nervousness and proximity with each exhalation that touched Tintin's skin. His hands trembled, moist with sweat, and when he tried to open the bottle it almost slipped out of his fingers.

„Is it visible?" Tintin asked, turning his head slightly to see Haddock fumbling with the bottle.

„Mh-hm. Stay still. It'll be fine." Haddock couldn not suppress an erection. Was this even real? Anxiously he wiped his palms on his trousers before putting them on Tintin's hips, pretending to hold him in place to examine him more closely. „Hm. Yeah, lad, doesn't look bad."

Oh God. He wanted to push his face between those divine buttocks, rub his beard over them, knead and squeeze them.

But with some difficulty he restrained himself. He merely let his fingertips wander over the reddened areas, feeling Tintin wince just the slightest bit. „This where it burns?"

„Yes", Tintin whispered.

Haddock put some silicea balm on his shaky fingers, and carefully spread it over the affected skin.

He heard a gasp from the boy when Tintin felt the cold gel, and Tintin's hips shifted a little, causing Haddock's fingers to move over the crack between the buttocks.

„It's all right, lad", he muttered, by now painfully aroused. „It's all right..." He wondered if he was saying it to Tintin or actually to himself.

Tintin let out a small giggle. „It's cold... it tickles. Sorry."

Finally there was nothing more to do. „Done", Haddock said, turning away his head with pretend decency when Tintin looked around. „Stay like this for a moment until it's dry."

Tintin nodded, an angelic smile on his lips. „Yes... _Papa_. I'll just stay here. For work."

Haddock got up, ready to leave, making sure to turn his pelvis from Tintin's view so his excited state wouldn't be apparent. „I'll leave you then. See you, lad." Blistering barnacles! His face was still hot and flustered.

His hand lay on the door handle, when he heard Tintin's voice.

„Captain!"

„...yes?"

„Thank you!"


	4. Chapter 4

The insight came to Tintin late at night. For days he had been racking his brain for answers, fighting with shameful feelings he wasn't supposed to have, until it hit him like a flash of lightning. Was on earth was wrong with love? He _loved_ the Captain, and had never desired other men so he was not a deviant. And love was a celestial invention, a divine gift, even when it caused and expressed itself in physical reactions - after all, the human body was a divine gift, too, the Creator's masterpiece! And Haddock would never harm or injure it.  
  
Fine! With newfound confidence Tintin made peace with himself, and the same night he sent a brief prayer to heaven. "Lord, if you can see into my heart, you'll understand."  
Then he decided he had to tell the Captain.  
  
But when?  
  
The following days he waited. And waited. Always found an excuse to postpone it. Rationally he knew that if even if he'd be rejected Haddock most likely wouldn't throw him out. His reason said that if Haddock loved him like a father, he would understand.  
  
But doubt remained. Fear held him back.  
  
Tintin needed to know beforehand - had to know if there was a chance, however small, that Haddock might actually be willing to take their relationship to a physically intimate level. Haddock wasn't very shy about touching Tintin, was he? The memory of how lovingly he'd treated Tintin's backside after the spanking still made him blush. No one who found that awkward or uncomfortable would have been as gentle as the Captain had, would have taken so much time to look at, touch, caress and admire his bottom.  
  
Yes, there was a small chance.  
  
Tintin seized the opportunity one late night.  
  
Stealthily, on tiptoes, wearing only his undershorts, he sneaked into Captain Haddock's bedroom. It was shortly after midnight.

  
.

.

.

  
  
Captain Haddock groaned when a light knock on the door woke him from half-slumber. "What", he shouted, switching on the night lamp. The alarm clock showed ten past midnight.  
  
It was Tintin, almost naked and so beautiful in the soft golden lamplight that for a moment Haddock believed to be asleep and dreaming.  
  
"Captain..." The lad's voice sounded whiny and weary. "I can't sleep. Would you let me into your bed?"  
  
"What?" Haddock stared at him. Did Tintin know what he was asking? Never before had they shared a bed! Blistering barnacles!  
  
"Please... _Papa?_ "  
  
Haddock cleared his throat. "Um... yes, of course, my boy." He moved to the side and threw back half of the duvet invitingly. "Come here."  
  
Tintin crawled into bed, curling up on the side with his back turned to Haddock, and Haddock switched the light off.  
Damn! Tintin was close to him, very close, his back touching Haddock's chest so they lay in a spooning position. Haddock held his breath. This wasn't good.  
  
It was better. Marvellous and sublime. Too much so.  
  
Tintin's position was impossible to ignore. Now he shifted even closer to Haddock, pressing his bottom against the Captain's groin.  
  
Thundering typhoons! How was a man supposed to sleep that way?  
  
Darned barnacles, he was a sailor! He had slept under more difficult conditions before. Surely that beautiful boy cuddled up against him would be no more distracting than the rocking and shaking movements of a ship on storm-tossed sea...  
  
He put his hand on Tintin's side, very carefully, wondering if the lad was already asleep. His beard and mouth were almost touching Tintin's nape, and he caught a whiff of delicate, youthful scent with a hint of soap and sweat. Tintin's own essence, unmistakable and irresistible.  
  
What time was it? He was afraid to move - it might loosen or disrupt their close embrace - so he didn't look at the clock.  
  
 _Distract yourself, old sea lion!_  
  
It was no use. He was getting hard. His cock grew to full size, large and solid, tenting out his pajama pants.  
  
Thundering typhoons!  
  
Tintin made a sleepy sound and cuddled up closer to Haddock so his buttocks pressed snugly against the Captain's erection.  
  
Haddock drew in breath. "Good Lord", he exhaled quietly.  
  
What sort of perverted old man was he? Now Tintin would know-! But, the lad was asleep, wasn't he? His breaths were quiet and regular.  
  
Haddock stayed still for what felt like twenty minutes but remained hard. His cock demanded no less than the soft flesh of Tintin's bottom it was so tightly wedged against. That, combined with Tintin's scent, the feel of his naked skin, the heat under the covers-  
  
It was despicable. He was despicable. A criminal. To hell with it! Haddock fumbled with his pajama pants to free his erection. He'd get this over with quickly. _And_ , a debased voice in the back of his mind whispered, _maybe Tintin's doing that on purpose..._  
  
 _No!_ Tintin was asleep! And why would he ever-!? Tintin, his precious, innocent-!  
  
Either way he would be defiled. Tainted.  
  
Very carefully Haddock moved ever so slightly, feeling his aching hardness leak across Tintin's barely covered ass.  
  
"Mmh", Tintin muttered, stirring a little, but he did not change his position.  
  
Haddock froze. His heart was beating so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if it woke the lad. Then, after Tintin had given no sign of being awake for another ten minutes, Haddock began to move once more, slowly grinding against Tintin. Then he went a little faster.  
  
His breath, too, picked up pace.  
  
Moist and warm, his cock pushed against and into the cleft between Tintin's buttocks, the boy's now precum-stained underpants the only barrier between them.  
  
The fabric was a thin, weak wall. Easy to tear down.  
  
Haddock knew he had to stop, in the name of all that was holy, but he had gone too far already. He was abusing, defiling what he loved most. Horrified at himself and ashamed that still he couldn't stop, he reached down, clasping a sweaty hand around his cock.  
  
His body demanded fulfilment, so he stroked himself quickly, the tip of his erection still pressed tightly between Tintin's ass cheeks. Low, barely audible moans escaped him. For a moment he had forgotten he might awaken the boy.  
  
He came with a barely suppressed grunt, thighs briefly twitching. One, two, three spurts of hot seed hit Tintin's crack, soaking the flimsy cotton of his underpants.  
  
For a moment he just remained there, and muttered a curse under his breath.  
  
What a mess, what a damn mess!  
  
There was no way this would go unnoticed in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

Tintin, of course, had been awake the entire time.  
  
At first he had assumed that Haddock was asleep, and had inwardly rejoiced when he felt the rather heavy, rock hard length pressing against his bottom – what a powerful feeling to have caused such a reaction even though Haddock wasn't aware of him and probably dreaming about some woman from his past!  
  
Then Tintin had just been about to reach into his own underpants and thoroughly enjoy old fantasies about what he'd have the Captain do to him, when he heard the muttered curse that did not sound like sleep-talking at all.  
  
 _Crumbs!_  
  
Captain Haddock, very much awake, fumbled with his own pants behind Tintin's back, and Tintin froze. It took him a moment to put two and two together. So Haddock was getting turned on – not just by a dream, but because of him! Great snakes! The Captain was not sleeping at all!  
  
Now Tintin closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. The Captain's erection was moving against his bottom, and Tintin felt hot moisture dampen his undergarments where the hard tip rubbed it.  
  
Dear God! _He wants me... he actually wants me in that way-?_  
  
Tintin tried to keep his breath steady as the other man's massive cock was grinding across his buttocks until it was gently nudged into the cleft between them.  
  
It was glorious; and Tintin's own excitement grew.  
  
But as the seconds and then perhaps a minute or two passed by, Tintin's gut tensed with uneasiness. If Haddock was awake and purposely, consciously _using_ him – that was something he'd never thought his beloved Captain to be capable of. Then he scolded himself – Tintin, you fool, you're the one who did this on purpose – _you_ wanted to feel him against you, _you_ wanted to take advantage and excite him!  
  
Haddock was now stroking himself, and his warm body was slightly shaking with the movements of his hand. Tintin heard the wet, slapping sounds and felt the warm erection repeatedly, lightly hit his buttocks.  
  
The only barrier between them were Tintin's underpants, now moist with pre-cum.  
  
The boy's own breaths picked up pace, and he tried to keep still as questions and possibilities rushed through his mind, the most disturbing one being that Haddock might actually try and overstep a limit.  
  
 _Don't be silly, Tintin! He would never hurt you!_  
  
But what if... what if Tintin, in his shameful inexperience and naivety, had actually signaled with his actions that he wanted to have it all the way?  
  
Was there some secret code he he did not know he had used? Had he _demanded_ , in a sort of mysterious ancient coupling language, that Haddock actually – Tintin shuddered at the both excitement- and fear-inducing thought - stick his cock inside him?  
  
He stayed quiet and motionless, but his mind was alarmed. He heard the Captain's quick and shallow breaths behind him, and it made the fine hairs on Tintin's nape stand up.  
  
He just anticipated to feel sweaty, rough fingers to pull his underpants sideways, exposing his bottom to that impatiently moving hard cock. Would the Captain do it? Would he _take_ him?  
  
Would it hurt?  
  
Tintin was afraid. Often he had wondered about how it would be. To wrap his legs around Haddock's broad, strong back and take him up inside him was one of his favorite fantasies.  
  
But this was different. This was not the way he had expected it to happen.  
  
What to do? He should pretend to awaken, and Haddock would notice, and stop.  
  
 _Will he, Tintin?_  
  
Tintin tensed, frozen with fear. _What if he won't?_  
  
He had to do something!  
  
But just when he was sensing the old instinct kicking in, telling him to stop it and flee, he felt the other man behind him tense, then a low groan.  
  
Sudden wetness spread hotly over Tintin's behind, seeping through the thin cotton fabric onto his skin, then another spurt and yet another; and he knew it was over.  
  
Great snakes...!  
  
He exhaled a breath of relief, but also with a trace of disappointment.  
  
„Damn", he heard the Captain behind him mutter, „what a damned mess." The next few words were hard to understand, but Tintin could make out „old pervert", „debauched fool", and for a moment he had the idea to turn around, put his arms around Haddock and assure him it was quite all right and that he hadn't gone too far at all. But he decided against it, and still pretended to sleep.  
  
It felt wet, so wet and sticky and hot, and a major portion of it had just dripped onto the bedsheet. Tintin heard the Captain rummage through the nightstand; then the mattress just under his butt yielded under an energetic wiping motion from a strong hand. Within seconds Tintin felt the same hand, armed with another paper towel, carefully sliding over – and a little in between – his buttocks, wiping away the mess.  
  
Then the hands were gone. Tintin heard an exasperated sigh and a slight creak as the mattress dipped under Haddock's body leaning back into it.  
  
„Barnacles...! There's no way he won't notice it!"  
  
But soon Haddock had surrendered to the exhausting effect of his actions, and was sleeping soundly with regular, low snores.  
  
When Tintin was sure the Captain had been asleep for fifteen minutes at least, he stealthily crawled out of the bed.  
  
He wouldn't have minded a little taste of the Captain's very own essence, but he couldn't stay like this all night. Ejaculate quickly turned stale, and even when dried it still clung possessively to one's skin.  
  
He felt his underpants adhering wetly to his bottom as he walked toward the bathroom. A few stray drops that Haddock had missed ran down the back and insides of his thighs; and he quickly wiped them away with bare hands.  
  
In the bathroom he threw his underwear into the laundry basket, and cleaned himself up with a washcloth. Back in his own room, he put on new underpants and after a moment of pondering the situation he decided he was too tired to care and right now wanted to pretend that nothing had happened.  
  
So he returned to Haddock's bed and soon fell asleep.

  
.

.

.

  
  
When Tintin awoke the next morning he immediately remembered the events, though they seemed so incredible that at first he was considering having had just a dream. A most tantalizing, lifelike dream. It had felt so real!  
  
A bit too real, actually. When Tintin looked around he saw Haddock's bedroom, not his own. And on the mattress he could see a stain of evidence of their nocturnal activities – or rather, the Captain's activities.  
  
The Captain, however, was nowhere to be seen. The bedside next to Tintin had obviously been just slept in, as suggested by the crumpled sheet and flattened pillow; and in an instant Tintin gave in to the sudden urge to bury his face in that pillow, inhaling the faint traces of what he knew what uniquely his Archie Haddock, until he realized, slightly embarrassed, he might get caught. So he rolled back onto his side of the bed.  
  
Just in time.  
  
For a minute later the door opened and Haddock entered the bedroom. He wore the wine red dressing gown with the composure of an English country lord and to Tintin's surprise he carried a breakfast tray.  
  
„Good morning, lad." He set the tray in front of Tintin onto the middle of the bed.  
  
„What's the occasion, Captain?" Tintin looked at the coffee bowls and croissants, wondering. Usually Haddock brought breakfast to bed only on Tintin's birthdays.  
  
„Um... nothing. Just for the sake of it." Haddock seemed embarassed.  
  
Did he perhaps remember what had happened last night? Or did he believe it had been a dream? But if he did remember... perhaps he felt _guilty?_  
  
They started eating in silence, and Tintin, sensing the sudden awkwardness, realized that if he ever wanted to get anywhere he'd have to make the first step.  
  
„My Captain", he said, touching the man's hand to get his full attention, „I had a wonderful dream tonight."


	6. Chapter 6

Haddock looked up from his bowl of whisky-spiked coffee, eyes wide. „A... a dream?"

„Yes." Tintin smiled warmly. „And you were in it."

Haddock put the coffee bowl back onto the tray, its contents lightly shaking so that a few drops spilled over.

It made Tintin secretly cringe to see how thoroughly mortified the Captain seemed. This hadn't been his intention. „Captain", he said pleadingly, „look at me. Look at me, please."

Haddock did as he was told, and also pushed the breakfast tray aside so nothing was now between them. He grabbed Tintin's shoulders and set on to speak, but it took him a few moments to get the words out. „Lad, it wasn't a dream. You noticed, right? You know it...? I'm sorry- so very sorry-!"

Feeling the rather large, rough hands on his narrow shoulders Tintin was suddenly aware of how almost naked he still was, so close to the Captain, and felt a pleasant shiver run over his skin that made his nipples harden and stand up.

„Captain, it's all right – you did nothing wrong-"

„Shht, lad." Haddock put a finger on Tintin's lips. „Blisterin' barnacles, I'm sorry, that was not supposed to happen." He covered the sides of his own head with both hands, which Tintin thought to be a rather comically dramatic gesture. „I'm supposed to care for you, to protect you! Dear God, what if I can't protect you even from myself?! Thundering typhoons, I'm a miserable perverted old idiot, I should've never-"

„ _Enough!_ " Tintin barked.

Haddock stared at him, frozen in mid-tragedian act.

When Tintin spoke, he was no longer playing the role of the young boy – he'd assumed his usual mature everyday self. „Listen, it's easy to forget but I'm not your son, and I'm also an adult. I'm twenty-two. I know what happened and why. And I love you as a best friend and father..."

He paused for thought.

„... well, I _did_ , because I realized a while ago that I want more. I want all of you, Captain. It was hard enough for me to accept that part of myself – please don't make it harder." His voice faltered. „Just... say 'yes' or 'no'... would you?" The last few words took a huge effort, almost as much as keeping his gaze locked with Haddock's. „Please, Captain. I love you. I want you. Can you... do you want the same?"

His face was so hot it felt feverish. Unable to bear Haddock's stare any longer he looked down.

To his suprise he found himself enveloped in a tight, desperate embrace.

„Yes", Haddock said, „yes, oh, yes." He held Tintin close, his face pressed against Tintin's shoulder.

His dressing gown felt so soft and warm against Tintin's skin and his beard so tickly and bristly that for a minute Tintin wondered how it would feel on other areas of his body.

„Tintin?" Haddock muttered. „Yes, I'm sorry, of course you're a grown man. Who knows that better than I? Yet it's sometimes easy to forget, and then it feels like I'm taking advantage of a young, innocent – dear God, I mean... nevermind, lad! What I want to say is- yes, I want you. Been wanting you for quite some time."

He interrupted the embrace, pushing Tintin from him at arm's length so they could see each other's faces.

Tintin felt tears well up, but they were tears of happiness. What an incredible, wondrous thing that something he had believed to be evil was so readily accepted and enthusiastically requited!

„Actually..." His face was glowing. „I'm truly inexperienced. I don't know anything about love, and..." - he whispered the last word, „...sex."

Haddock looked at him, nodding, clearly not surprised.

His favorite role came back to Tintin easily. Head still shyly downcast, he looked up at his Captain, still whispering. „So, I need you to guide me. Please, teach me... _Papa._ "

With a low sound somewhere between a snort and a growl Haddock stared at Tintin, eyes wide, before he exhaled. „Of course, lad", he muttered.

When he leaned back against the headboard his dressing robe fell open at the front, revealing the telltale bulge where an erection was tenting out his pajama pants. He patted his thighs, and his voice was deep and hoarse when he said, „C'mon, boy. Sit here."

Tintin was so eager he almost fell over the breakfast tray, but within seconds he sat on Haddock's lap, embracing the older man, feeling his warm hands around his back and waist, and that solid erection pushing against him.

And then the Captain's mouth was on his, and the novel sensations made Tintin dizzy - the contrast between scratchy beard and soft lips, and suddenly Haddock's tongue tried to enter his own mouth and Tintin let it happen. He was amazed how wet it felt, and tasted whisky and coffee. Slightly shocked, he realized the effect it had on him, the warm, tingly feeling spreading through him, and at the same time his senses were heightened and sharp. This was his first kiss ever and he would savour and remember every second of it.

It was delightfully wet and hot, and Tintin found he could play with, encircle and push against Haddock's tongue, which the older man seemed to like. Tintin also became aware of Haddock's hands holding him tighter, more desperately. Their kiss deepened, and Tintin closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation.

Haddock was the one who stopped it, slowly and breathlessly, to take a look at Tintin's face. He looked quite flustered himself, as Tintin noted with amazement. Never before had he seen the Captain that way – excited, speech- and breathless. Because of him.

„Wow." Tintin grinned. „That is... wow."

.

.

.

Captain Haddock was in heaven. He knew Tintin as an adventurous and curious lad but _this_ he hadn't expected to become reality.

His ego had previously nagged him – why would Tintin ever desire a foolish drunkard old enough to be his father? - but now he was too elated to listen to that voice. He was in heaven, and Tintin on his lap smiled brightly like the morning sun, practically shining beneath his lovely freckles and dimples, and Haddock wanted to kiss every single one of them.

Tintin looked at him, suddenly serious. His blush had intensified, and he whispered, „I have a question..."

Haddock caressed the boy's thighs, suddenly anxious to hear the words. „Yes?"

„If we're going to be lovers..." Tintin paused, looking embarassed.

„Yes, sweetheart?"

„...does it mean..." Now Tintin looked down bashfully, „...that you're going to stick your penis inside me?"

Now it was Haddock's turn to blush a deep red. Those blunt words, so shyly spoken, instantly fueled his still present arousal, and suddenly images of this very act were invading his imagination: Tintin on this very bed, naked and legs open invitingly, begging for Haddock to take him already. Too often Haddock has wondered what it would feel like to be inside Tintin, to make sweet love to him, to empty his seed inside him.

It took him a while to recover from the temporary daze, and he responded, „Only if you want that, lad."

„I do", Tintin said, blushing like the virgin he apparently was, „I'm just... a little afraid."

Haddock hugged him tighter. „There's nothing to be afraid of, my boy. We do it when _you_ want, and only then. There are many other great things, too, we can do together."

Now Tintin looked at him again, smiling. „You'll teach me, _oui?"_

„Of course." He caressed the lad's cheek and nape.

Straightening his posture, Tintin eagerly said, „I'll do anything you say, Papa."

The Captain held his breath, staring at Tintin, and saw no more than an innocent expression full of playfulness. „Um... well", he responded, and glanced at the clock, „it's almost ten. Time for a shower, don't you think?"

Tintin seemed to have had the same idea. „Let's shower together!"

.

In the bathroom they saw each other fully naked for the first time.

Altough the boy tried to conceal it he was ogling Haddock's body with great interest, and instantly the older man felt self-conscious. Though tall and blessed with strong arms and legs, he was quite soft in the middle. And all that hair – wouldn't it turn Tintin off? But the lad seemed fascinated, and even ran a hand over Haddock's chest, down to his belly, and further down until it touched the base of his shaft.

Haddock inhaled sharply.

„Tintin-", he began, but the boy interrupted him. „Wow, you're so big, Captain!" His voice was full of amazement and his eyes wide when he took it in his hands, enclosing and softly stroking it.

Tintin's touch was tender and cautious, and Haddock enjoyed it silently, his gaze meeting Tintin's; and apparently the boy found the silence hard to interpret – despite the Captain's growing hardness in his hands – so he asked, „Is it all right, Captain?"

Haddock ran a hand through Tintin's red-golden colored hair. „Of course, lad. Investigate me all you like. You're good at that, aren't you?" He grinned, and so did Tintin. „But for now, stop." He grasped his wrist, gently tugging the teasing hand away. „I don't want to come. Not yet."

Tintin seemed slightly disappointed. „Okay." But he readily let Haddock lead him into the shower.

„It's because I'm gonna make you come first", Haddock whispered into the lad's ear, and turned on the water. Tintin looked at him wide-eyed, then smiled coyly.

Warm water ran over their bodies, and soon the shower cabin was filled with moist steam. Slathering liquid soap over Tintin's arms, chest and sides, Haddock made sure to rub and wash every place on the boy's lovely body. Tintin was leaning against the tiled wall, eyes half closed, and his erection told Haddock all about how much he enjoyed being touched in this way. Haddock was practically adoring and venerating him with those hands.

When Tintin sighed, arching his pelvis more toward the Captain, the latter smiled to himself. The lad's now deep red, hard erection was the only place he hadn't paid much attention to yet – intentionally teasing him by making him wait.

Tintin apparently thought that Haddock wouldn't go further, and reached down to touch himself.

„Whoa, wait, lad!" Haddock grabbed the boy's wrist, stopping him with a grin. „I said I will make you come."

How cute Tintin looked, blushing and embarassed like this! „You really want... um-" he stuttered.

Haddock, praying that his knees would play along, knelt down in front of Tintin, and used his hands on the lad's hips to hold him in place.

„Captain", Tintin gasped incredulously, „what are you-!?"

His words were cut off by a low, hardly suppressed moan when Haddock took him into his mouth.

He sucked Tintin, slowly at first, wondering how his beard might feel on the lad's skin, and noting with admiration how golden Tintin's pubic hair looked up close.

Tintin's thighs trembled a little but Haddock held them firmly. The lad's moans and sighs were low and muffled, and Haddock continued in a more energetic manner – licking, sucking, teasing hard. Tintin tasted faintly salty and was now so erect that Haddock had difficulties to keep it from standing vertically solely with his mouth so he used a hand to grab it at the base.

Just moments later Tintin's hands grabbed Haddock's shoulders. The lad's knees buckled, and he bent over with a groan as he reached climax.

Haddock, surprised by the hot, salty seed erupting in his mouth so soon swallowed it as quickly as he could.

The boy still held onto those strong shoulders when the Captain, knees slightly creaking, went back to stand upright so he could see Tintin's face. How beautiful the ginger-haired youth looked like this! Freckles barely visible under hot, flustered skin that was glistening wet with droplets of steaming water, moist lips parted with heavy breaths.

They looked at each other. „Oh, Captain", Tintin said, „I'd never... have thought..." A little sheepishly, he added, „I'm sorry, it was too fast. I couldn't hold back."

Haddock caressed Tintin's face, amazed how feverish it felt. „Aye, lad, that's normal! You're young and eager; it's only when you get older that you learn to take your time."

Tintin's smile radiated pure bliss, and he lost himself in that view for a while.

Then, realizing they were wasting water, he turned the shower off and insisted that he be the one to rub Tintin dry with a towel. It was as though he must use every opportunity to lay his hands on the boy. Such was his luck that he still did not fully believe that it was really happening.

When they faced each other again, Tintin hugged the Captain. „I can't believe it. I thought it was evil, and a sin, and I mustn't even think of it..." He looked up at Haddock, tears glistening in his eyes. „But that you'd do it so... easily, like it's the most natural thing. I mean, it's amazing, Captain, and..."

„Yes?" Haddock whispered.

„What else are you going to show me?"

.

.

.

to be continued


	7. Chapter 7

Tintin was thrilled; so excited at times that he thought it still must be a dream. But it was real – the Captain, his lover! The sensation was intoxicating and novel, and suddenly Tintin was restless and unable to think of anything else than this man. A strange, new sensitivity deep in his core made him understand why people talked of 'butterflies in one's stomach', and it was a delicious torture since he was supposed to have other things on his mind.  
  
There were assignments to do, articles to be written, and he barely managed to get anything done.  
  
He was in love.  
  
Haddock had told him they would take it slow, and rationally Tintin knew it was best to make the time to explore each other with gradual and tender attention, but right now his emotions and genitals were the ones in control. He'd do everything, _anything_ , for his Captain right now; even fantasized about simply surprising him in the parlor or bedroom, wearing nothing, and begging him to take him.  
  
The thought caused a familiar feeling of shame and guilt to rise; and he chided himself for being so impatient and lustful. Haddock was doing the very right thing by making them both wait!  
  
At least he could go downstairs. See if Haddock was home – after all, today wasn't pub day. Or golf day. Just see him. To talk. To hear the delightful rumble of his deep voice with the English accent.  
  
He found Haddock on the sofa in the parlor, reading a book. As he approached the Captain looked up from the pages. "Well, hello! How's work going, darling?"  
  
"I don't get much done", Tintin confessed, sitting down next to him.  
  
Haddock closed the book. "Why is that, lad?"  
  
Tintin blushed. "I can't think of anything but you."  
  
"Tintin." Haddock ran a hand over the youth's face, tracing the smooth, reddened apple cheeks, and his thumb brushed over Tintin's lips. He took the boy's face into his hand, forcing him to look at him. "I'm here for you, my love. I'll always be. I'm yours. You know that."  
  
"I know." Tintin was embarrassed. What he wanted right now was something he had trouble expressing, and somehow using blunt terms at this point didn't feel right. "It's just... I... I don't want to wait any longer."  
  
"Tintin, you need to be sure..." Now Haddock had trouble finding words, too.  
  
Thinking was useless. Tintin wouldn't think. Not right now.  
  
Instead, he acted.  
  
He got up from the sofa, and knelt down in front of Haddock, right between the man's knees. No thinking. Just drive and urge. Tintin unbuttoned the Captain's trousers, found a zipper, pulled it down.  
  
"Tintin!?" Haddock's mildly shocked voice sounded far away.  
  
Tintin pulled the hem of the Captain's trousers down, and tried to drag the underwear out of the way, but suddenly found his own wrists grabbed by firm hands.  
  
"Lad, what are you doing?!"  
  
He stared at Haddock, eyes widening as the meaning of the unspeakable act he'd been about to commit dawned upon him. Of course! It was a sin. Haddock might have done the same to Tintin, but that was different – he, Tintin, was supposed to be virtuous, free of such urges! It was sinful and wrong to desire a man in this way.  
  
Only if all initiative came from Haddock it was acceptable; only if Tintin did not or could not resist, then it wasn't his fault.  
  
But so? He should have known better. He'd known it all his life. A filthy-minded, depraved young man he was.  
  
Looking at Haddock he felt his eyes water, and his lower lip tremble. The Captain's expression was dead serious.  
  
"I'm sorry", he blurted out, fighting back tears. "I... I just want to give you pleasure."  
  
To his complete surprise, Haddock grinned, and laughed. "Tintin, Tintin! I can't believe it! Come here!" He dragged a shaky, embarrassed journalist onto his lap. "You're still feeling guilty? After all we've done? Listen, my darling", - he caressed his ginger hair - "it's not evil. It's beautiful. Guess it'll take you a while to fully realize that, right?"  
  
Tintin nodded, smiled, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling relieved that Haddock wasn't mad at him. For a moment he'd actually thought that he had ruined it all with his lust and wantonness.  
  
The Captain's reassuring words made Tintin regain confidence. "Well, looks like I was naughty." He looked at Haddock sheepishly, and cast his gaze down. "I haven't been good."  
  
"A naughty boy you are, eh?" Haddock's voice turned lower and deeper. "I wonder what's the punishment for naughty boys?"  
  
He wrapped one arm around Tintin's waist and swiftly lay him down across his lap, face down onto the sofa, so that he had easy access to the lad's entire back.  
  
"Oh-!" Tintin exclaimed. "They... they get spanked!"  
  
"Right!"  
  
He relished the feeling of being held down on the Captain's lap just like the first time the older man had spanked him. His conscience still bothered him. But this was clearly a game, and games were good. To play a role came to him easily, especially the role of a son, pretending that Haddock was his 'Papa'. "Usually... er, on the behind. But not too hard. I don't want it to hurt."  
  
"Of course." There was a low chuckle as Haddock unbuttoned and pulled down Tintin's plus fours along with his underpants. "I'll be gentle."  
  
He laid a hand on Tintin's bare bottom, squeezing affectionately.  
  
Tintin inhaled sharply. "But I... I've been really naughty." That wasn't even half a lie. He _did_ feel that he deserved a chastening.  
  
Damn and bless his Catholic upbringing!  
  
The Captain's flat hand hit Tintin's backside a few times - only lightly so it wasn't painful; on the contrary, it caused Tintin's stomach to tense slightly and a tingly warmth to spread through his body.  
  
As long as it was Haddock doing this to him, Tintin's conscience could stay pure.  
  
He opened his thighs a few centimeters, as far as the trousers bunching around his knees would permit, and hoped the older man would get the hint.  
  
"Looks like you need special discipline", Haddock whispered. His rough hand rested heavily on Tintin's buttocks, sliding one finger through the crack between them; with the other hand he held him in check.  
  
A pleasant thrill ran down Tintin's spine, and he realized how tense he was. He tried to relax but his breath picked up pace.  
  
 _Captain, do anything you want to me._  
  
Suddenly the hand was gone from his behind, and a second later two calloused fingertips pressed onto Tintin's mouth, gently parting his lips.  
  
Haddock's voice was calm yet commanding. "Open your mouth."  
  
Tintin obeyed, savoring the new, titillating rush. Much blood had departed to his nether regions so he was now fully aroused, his erection pressing against Haddock's lap, and he felt the other man's hardness, too.  
  
He closed his eyes, sucking one thick finger that entered his mouth, tasting salt and sweat. Oh, if only Haddock would enter him both ways! None of either invasions alone seemed enough for Tintin's frustrating need to be filled.  
  
He sucked harder, using more saliva, pretending that the finger was another part he longed for.  
  
Haddock pushed one more digit into Tintin's mouth, and the boy responded with a muffled moan.  
  
The anticipation, it was too much!  
  
He spread his thighs one desperate centimeter further, wishing he could remove the plus fours. When he tried to arch his back and lift his bottom up, Haddock's hand on the small of his back held him firmly in place. With a whiny, impatient whimper he attemped to get the Captain's attention.  
  
"Thundering typhoons, lad, do you need it that badly?"  
  
With that, the fingers were gone from Tintin's mouth, and back at his behind, digging between his buttocks, and -  
  
"Ah!" Tintin gasped.  
  
It entered him, opening him up, broad and bony. "Captain, I- I..."  
  
"Are you a good boy now, Tintin?"  
  
"I will be! … please- ah! - don't stop! Don't stop." Tintin was breathing hard; shaking as the overwhelming sinful tingly feeling expanded inside him, creating heated tension. _Mon Dieu_ , why was he losing control like this?  
  
Was it because Haddock's other hand was now on his neck, holding him down? Surely the Captain's finger inside him alone could not-  
  
"Oh!" Tintin cried out as Haddock bent his finger to hit a spot that the young reporter had no idea existed, sending a pleasant jolt through him that caused previously unknown nerve fibers to vibrate – and then again, and again. He twisted under the Captain's hands, moaning and gasping. "Ah-! Oh! Captain...! ah-!"  
  
Haddock moved his face down toward Tintin's ear, his warm breath tickling the boy's nape and earlobe. "Will you be good, lad?"  
  
"Yes", Tintin whined, squirming vainly under the incredible stimulation, "I... I'll do anythi- ahh!"  
  
"What?" Haddock slowly pulled his finger out, only to push it in hard, once more against that one amazing spot, _oh God, again!_ Tintin shuddered with delight, panting, unable to speak for several seconds, until he managed to reply. "I'll... do anything you... ahh... say."  
  
There was a low chuckle from the Captain.  
  
 _Mon Dieu, if he keeps doing this, I will come right here and now._  
  
How little it took to make him lose control like this!  
  
"Yeah, that's a good boy", Haddock muttered, caressing Tintin's hair. His own breathing had become labored, and Tintin clearly felt the man's erection pushing against his belly. "All right. I'll let you suck my cock."

  
.

.

.

  
  
Captain Haddock was amazed.  
  
He had never thought it possible that his sweet Tintin could be so sensitive to his invading fingers. The lad had been close to orgasm, moaning and squirming on his lap, and Haddock began to suspect that it had something to do with him being the one in control, and making the boy take it.  
  
That way, Tintin would feel neither responsible nor guilty. God knew how much Catholic angst those anamorphic aardvarks of monks – or was it nuns? - had instilled in him during his childhood years!  
  
What Tintin was showing now was clearly a long suppressed hunger, a desire he'd buried for years but that had never gone away.  
  
At Haddock's command the boy now went to work eagerly, unsteadily climbing from the sofa, and kneeling between the Captain's legs.  
  
His small, freckled hands shakily reopened Haddock's trousers, and Haddock couldn't help but stare at Tintin's face. Intensely focused on the task he was a tantalizing image of want. Blushing cheeks damp with perspiration, luscious red lips parted in heavy breaths. Tintin wanted. He _needed._  
  
 _Billions of blue blistering barnacles, how long has he wanted this?_  
  
Tintin regarded the Captain's erection with wonder. And Haddock watched, breathless and incredulous, as Tintin's hand grasped it, stroking gently.  
  
Then Tintin took it into his mouth hungrily.  
  
What a sight!  
  
And what a sensation! Tintin's mouth was hot and wet, and he sucked lightly, glancing up at the Captain from beautiful green eyes.  
  
Haddock let out a heavy sigh, nodding appreciatively, and caressed Tintin's hair as though to ascertain that this was really happening – his beloved boy reporter actually sucking him off.  
  
And Tintin did it so passionately as though he'd hardly ever tasted anything better; as though he wanted to savor every trace of the Captain's essence.  
  
"That's good", Haddock muttered between shallow breaths, "very good." He tenderly caressed Tintin's hair, and ran his thumb over the boy's cheek where he found a drop of pre-cum and smeared it over the soft skin.  
  
Encouraged, Tintin interrupted his work for a blissful grin before taking him back into his mouth. Holding the Captain's cock at the base he worked it with regular up- and down-movements of his head.  
  
His other hand reached down, probably to – Haddock couldn't really see it from here – touch himself.  
  
To claim it was good would have been the understatement of the year; and Haddock actually tried to restrain the building-up heat inside him. He wanted this to last. Wanted to watch Tintin suck him, as long as possible, before he-  
  
Wait a minute, should he actually come like this? Wouldn't Tintin, the uninitiated, inexperienced youth be put off by a man's semen in his mouth? For a moment Haddock remained torn between lust and doubt.  
  
But Tintin's flustered face, his increasingly firmer and wet sucking motions, they spoke a clear language.  
  
The lad was ravenous. Intensely focused he licked and sucked greedily while stroking himself as well, not even looking up at Haddock any more.  
  
Thundering typhoons! He wouldn't last much longer... no, it was already too late! He had to let go.  
  
The tingling tension was becoming unbearable, and he decided, _to hell with it, let Tintin have it all, he will do anything... he said so, didn't he...!_  
  
"Tintin, lad", he panted, "I'm gonna..."  
  
No pause, no reply. Only obscenely luscious, wet sucking sounds.  
  
Haddock leaned forward with a low groan, thighs and arms tensing as climax overwhelmed him in one, two, three exquisite waves. His mind shut down.  
  
From somewhere far away he heard a coughing sound. The fog began to lift, and he saw Tintin's face right there between his knees, the lad's wide open eyes looking at him curiously, having just watched the Captain orgasm. A milky white ribbon of fluid decorated Tintin's shirt collar, dripping down onto his pullover. He coughed again, hitting his own upper back a few times, before he smiled one of the loveliest smiles Haddock had ever seen.  
  
"Tintin", he muttered, lifting the lad's chin up with one hand. "My God, did you...?"  
  
The ginger-haired reporter nodded shyly. Then he lifted one hand, and Haddock noticed the sticky mess in which it was covered.  
  
"I came, too."


	8. Chapter 8

As someone experienced with addiction Captain Haddock knew what things one was most likely to get hooked on. Power, for example.

Power and control were addictive.

How dangerously compelling it was, that father role Haddock had assumed. Or had it been Tintin who had cast him into it? He could not remember.

Clearly the boy was feeling ashamed of his desires. Strong moral beliefs, once carved into one's mind, were near impossible to erase. Tintin's conscience did not allow him to give in to those perfectly common urges most young men had. Only if Haddock permitted it – _commanded_ it – could Tintin surrender to pleasure.

Was he really, truly ready to do anything Haddock asked? Had he even realized the meaning of his words?

_I'll do anything you say, Captain._

Haddock stood at the bathroom sink, looking at his tired face in the mirror. An ill-tempered, middle-aged sailor prone to addiction looked back at him.

He had to be cautious. Never, ever must he allow his obsessions to hurt Tintin. He would stay strong for his precious boyfriend. Hadn't he managed that many times before?

A knock on the bathroom door interrupted his reveries, and upon Haddock's command to enter Tintin walked in, dressed in pajamas, and went to brush his teeth. Haddock, remembering what he'd come here for, began to do the same.

As usual they scrubbed their teeth in silence, throwing quick glances at each other in the mirror.

And Haddock wondered. What if he told Tintin, right here and now, to bend over this very sink, pajama pants down, and to let the Captain take him? How would the boy's face look in the mirror as Haddock thrust into him from behind?

Would his precious, virtuous, sweet, obedient Tintin actually let such a thing happen?

Haddock finished brushing his teeth before Tintin, and stayed quiet, apparently deep in thoughts. Outrageous thoughts. If Tintin only knew. He was almost afraid to speak – as if the lad could read his mind.

He glanced down at Tintin's behind whose roundness was nicely accentuated by a bit of the pajama cotton fabric wedged between his buttocks; and reached out a hand to touch him.

_Wait a minute!_

What? He'd touched him there before. More than once. It was all right. Gently, he cupped one butt cheek in his hand, then the other.

Tintin gave him a surprised look in the mirror, his teeth-brushing slowing down somewhat.

_You're doing this for the wrong reasons, Archie._

Haddock wouldn't lie to himself, not this time.

Squeezing the firm round cheeks that were just the perfect size for his hands, he realized there was only one reason he was doing this: Because he could.

To demonstrate that he could.

Tintin seemed confused. He looked at Haddock in the mirror, eyebrows raised, and took a second to rinse his mouth before looking at him again. Obviously he had difficulties reading the Captain's anxious, tense face in connection with the tender fondling.

„Captain?"

Haddock imagined how he would make Tintin take it.

_With a firm hand he presses onto Tintin's back in a quiet order to bend over, and pulls down the lad's pajama pants and undershorts. And when he has that smooth round little ass right where he wants it he takes a closer look at it. Amazed, he discovers that Tintin's little hole, rosy as though it's blushing under his gaze, is also wet and slippery with lube – Tintin has anticipated what his Captain wants, and is ready for him. The boy is too shy to talk but emits a squeaky whimper when the Captain's hard cock slides inside him. Haddock looks down and watches, he can't just feel but also see it, and it is an incredible sight to behold – how he slowly pulls out his cock that's now glistening wet with lube only to thrust it back in-_

„Captain!? Are you drunk?" Tintin grabbed Haddock's shoulders and turned him so they were facing each other, causing his hand to slip away from the lad's bottom. Staring into Tintin's suddenly mature and questioning expression he felt his boldness falter. Courage left him.

He was now the little boy who had been naughty. „I'm sorry... I- I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Tintin nodded, smiling. „You looked a bit strange there for a moment." He sighed, having heard merely old news. „No more whisky tonight, you hear me?"

„Of course. Yes." Haddock was quick to comply. Anything for his precious Tintin. He looked downward in embarassment, then muttered, „I'm going to bed."

„Wait", Tintin said. His face looked slightly reddened, and his hands tightened on Haddock's shoulders. And suddenly Tintin's face was close to Haddock's; and he felt warm, soft lips on his own.

Tintin kissed him, gently but unable to conceal his longing. His entire body seemed to gravitate toward Haddock's, and soon he was pressing himself against his Captain, radiating warmth and want. They kissed, tenderly at first, then more fiercely.

Tintin's moans vibrated against Haddock's body, and Haddock responded by hugging him. Their mouths connected over and over in a wet, sloppy play of tongues.

When they separated it was Tintin who spoke first. „I'm going with you."

His blushing cheeks and moist lips, an image of sin, contrasted with his determined expression. He probably had to exercise plenty of willpower to state confidently what he wanted.

He did not need to say more. Haddock picked him up in a swift bridal carry, and hoping his back and knees wouldn't resent him for it tomorrow, hoisted him into his bedroom. Tintin made a sound of surprise but did not protest.

Haddock put him down onto the bed as gently as possible, and under Tintin's weight it responded with just a slight creak. The boy giggled. „I had no idea you're that strong." His green eyes looked up at Haddock, who was hovering over him, full of longing. Haddock's knees were dipping into the mattress on both sides of Tintin's hips, their faces mere centimeters apart.

„Tintin." He ran his hand over the lad's shimmering red-golden hair. „Tell me what you want."

„I..." His beautiful rosy mouth stood open invitingly for a moment as they kept their gazes locked. „I want you."

Sometimes one did not know answers, but sensed them with an instinct that was much older than reason. This was the right time and place. If Tintin wanted to sleep with him, so be it!

When Haddock began to shed his pullover and trousers Tintin did the same, and they resumed the embrace, kissing again; warming, half-naked bodies meeting in a tangle of arms and legs. Tintin wrapped himself around the Captain as if holding onto him for life. Haddock was weighing him down into the sheets, wondering if he might be too heavy for him, but the doubt quickly dissolved in a series of passionate kisses.

Their mouths and faces separated and Haddock looked at him in amazement. What a radiant beauty his darling Tintin was! But beneath his blushing freckled cheeks he seemed anxious, and when Haddock put a hand onto his smooth chest, he felt the strong heartbeat. The boy's voice was high-pitched when he asked, „Are we going to do it?"

That question Haddock had not expected. There he was again all of a sudden, Tintin the little boy who would do anything his Papa told him. Although titillating and naughty, something about this wasn't right. Not now, when for the first time he wanted to make love to him.

„If you ask it that way, lad – no."

Tintin tilted his head, confused.

Haddock began to sweat, this time with anxiety. How to express what he felt? He had never been good with words – what if he said something wrong? „It's... it's just", he stuttered, „...you actually have to want it. As the adult you are. Without my permission."

He could not interpret Tintin's blank expression so he continued, „It's tough for you to simply let go, isn't it?"

To his relief, Tintin's lips widened into a smile and he sighed. „Yes, Captain, that's precisely it, I guess." There was a short pause as the boy hesitated, until he pulled Haddock down to him again, kissing him. Once more the older man savored the sensation of silky, warm lips on his own. Tintin tasted of sweet desperation as though he had waited too long for just this kiss.

Through the underwear of them both he could clearly feel their hardened erections, hot and demanding against one another, and he pressed his abdomen closer to Tintin's. The boy moaned against Haddock's tongue.

The Captain interrupted the kiss to look into Tintin's eyes, and indeed, Tintin was returning his searing gaze with a look of unbridled desire of his own. His adorable smooth cheeks were deep pink, his parted lips exhaling quick breaths.

„Captain", he panted, „I want- oh!"

Haddock had brought his lips to the boy's alabaster neck, nibbling and tracing its curve down to the sensitive area between neck and shoulder. Tintin's breathing picked up pace, and he gasped when Haddock gently bit and licked he skin in that area.

Perhaps it would leave a mark. There was something riveting about leaving a visible claim on his beloved.

„Oh, Captain!" Tintin caught his breath. „I had no idea...!"

Nibbling and sucking with more vigour, Haddock searched for that exquisite limit where the pleasure peaked and just teetered on the edge of pain. And he seemed to have found it, for Tintin's body arched underneath Haddock's, his moans loud with want.

„Please, Captain-!"

Haddock admired his work, the blushing red mark on Tintin's pale skin, licking it again for good measure.

„Captain!" Tintin pushed his pelvis against Haddock in an unmistakable command. „I want it now. Please."

„What is it you want, lad?"

Tintin bit his lower lip. That view of his gorgeous boyfriend beneath him, plus his erection pressed against him – Haddock was amazed he still possessed a clear head. Of course – he must not get carried away before Tintin had made clear that he wanted it!

„Take me", Tintin said, voice low.

There was a mischievous joy in teasing him. Haddock grinned. „What do you mean, my boy?"

The redhead exhaled and stared at Haddock, brows furrowed in an effort to express what his shyness would hardly allow him to. „I... I want you inside me. Your... cock in me." He spoke with a small, bashful whisper. „Please, Captain."

To actually hear these words almost switched off Haddock's reason. He suppressed the urge to simply turn Tintin over with his big strong hands, to ram his cock into him.

He did, however, interrupt their embrace to get rid of his remaining underwear; and Tintin did the same until they both were fully naked.

Remembering the lubrication he'd bought a few days ago, Haddock excused himself to go fetch it, praying he wouldn't meet Nestor when he walked through the corridor in his conspicuously excited nude state. He returned to the bedroom with a tube of the clear gel.

Haddock sat down on the bed, leaning back against the wooden headboard, and told Tintin to get atop him, showing him how he wanted him to straddle him. A little confused – Tintin had probably expected a different position – the lad complied, his knees to the sides of Haddock's hips. This way, the Captain thought, Tintin would be the one more in control.

It was a stunning view, all of Tintin's beautiful body right in front of Haddock's eyes, and he caressed Tintin's sides, pulling him a little closer for better access to these smooth, peachy buttocks.

„You want me to- _ride?_ " Tintin's smile was a tad embarassed, but he kept his bottom pressed against the Captain's hardness.

„That way you can easily stop when it hurts, and control the speed."

Tintin nodded, still smiling. „Okay." He exhaled a little, and reached behind him awkwardly, grasping Haddock's erection and positioning himself over it.

„Wait, wait!" Haddock grabbed a surprised Tintin by the hips. „I need to prepare you first." He almost chuckled at the redhead's confusion, and patted Tintin's bottom before squeezing some lube onto his fingers. „It's better that way."

„Oh, right." Tintin's blush turned a shade deeper. And when Haddock's finger entered him he winced a little, then relaxed. The Captain observed him closely.

Fingering Tintin with one hand he used his other to stroke the boy's erection, hoping to bring him to that stage again where he would let go of control, turn wild with lust, just like last time when he'd laid on Haddock's lap. He wanted to drive Tintin over the edge up to the point where the lad would take up – no, demand! – all of Haddock inside him.

Determined, he searched for that mysterious sweet spot with a probing finger, knowing he'd found it when Tintin shuddered lightly, moaning.

„Is that the place, lad?"

Tintin nodded, his breathing was shallow, and he rocked his abdomen against Haddock's ministrations.

Feeling daring Haddock pressed against the elusive spot once more. Oh yeah, he'd drive him crazy, he'd make him lose all inhibition and shame.

Tintin gasped and moaned, looking at him with wonder and want.

He was so tight inside, his little hole so hot and narrow that Haddock took extra care to gently nudge a second finger inside, observing Tintin's face for any signs of pain or discomfort. But to his surprise the boy relaxed more – perhaps because of the slow, gentle hand job Haddock was distracting him with. He was becoming more liberated by the minute, and for a moment Haddock was utterly lost in the beautiful sight. Sweat began to shine on Tintin's forehead; and his chest rose and fell, diverting the Captain's attention to small, rosy erect nipples. And how smooth his skin was! If a man could ever surpass women his own age in beauty, Tintin surely was the one.

"Captain", Tintin panted, supporting himself on the other man's chest with his palms. "I'm ready. Let me."

 _I'll be damned if I can wait._ Haddock removed his fingers, and again reached for the lube, spreading more onto his hardness. Then, holding it steadily in place, he signaled Tintin to sink down onto it.  
Little by little, taut heat enveloped his pulsating flesh, and he resisted the urge to thrust his pelvis up. Moments later Tintin had taken him up entirely. He sat on Haddock's lap, heavy breaths puffing from his parted lips.

"Wow", he whispered.  
Haddock stared at him in amazement, still not believing he was inside Tintin - _for one billion barnacles, inside Tintin!_ \- and it was almost too exquisite to bear.  
"Yes", he replied, voice hoarse.

Tintin smiled, and again put his flat hands onto Haddock's chest. Thus holding onto the older man he began to move.

The slick sensation from the lube actually heightened the pleasure and perfect friction; and Tintin moved up and down, acquainting himself with this novel act. Haddock gazed at the sight before him - a part of him still found this too good to be true, while another part of him was eager for more.

"Wow, Captain", Tintin said, panting between thrusts, "you fit... just perfect."  
He removed his hands to touch himself, still moving with ease. Haddock caressed Tintin's sides as if to ascertain how real and true this was, but also simply to feel more of him.  
Encouraged by the boy's pleasure - Tintin had apparently forgotten all shyness and shame - Haddock began to thrust back, pushing his cock upward and vigorously driving it inside the lad.

Throwing his head back Tintin cried out with a deep voice. Sweat matted his red-golden hair, and he worked his legs and thighs as he rode his Captain harder.

Harder and faster.

Haddock noted the boy's muscles in the usually slender legs, and realized how just wild Tintin looked. He was the exact opposite of the boy Haddock knew. Animalic and untamed.

The bed underneath them protested with angry creaks, rivaled only by the obscene, loud slaps of flesh meeting flesh.  
Tintin had let loose. _To say he's enjoying himself_ , Haddock thought, _would be the understatement of the century._

Both panted and moaned, and Tintin leaned back, grasping Haddock's strong thighs for better hold. He rocked up and down atop the Captain.

"Captain-!" - a hitching breath - "oh, Captain, I-!"

"Lad, slow down, I'm gonna-"

"Yes, yesyes, come inside- ahh-!"

"Not yet!"

But Tintin, once more proving adventurous endurance, was riding him fiercely, sighing and moaning and generally presenting a deliciously debauched sight.  
As he stroked his erection harder his movements atop Haddock slowed down.

Too fascinated to continue thrusting Haddock watched him come.

The boy reporter's seed landed on the Captain's torso in milky white ribbons. Tintin's breath slowed down, his movements ceased and he looked at his lover; breathless, tired and with a blissful grin on his flustered face.

"Oh, Tintin", Haddock groaned. He began to thrust upward again, needing release as well. He signaled the lad to change positions, to lie on his stomach, a suitable change for his exhausted sweetheart.

When Tintin laid down on the sheets, his backside before the Captain's eyes, Haddock moved atop him on all fours. Pushing Tintin's sweaty thighs apart with his own he guided himself to the wonderful little hole where he'd just invaded him. Pressing the tip of his hard cock against it he noted with amazement how slippery, wet and reddened it was, and how easily it yielded now.  
He pushed inside, one hand around Tintin's waist to lift him up a few centimeters.  
Tintin moaned, clasping the bedsheet with moist hands.

Grunting, Haddock worked his way inside and pulled back out in a slow rhythm.

The boy's hot insides held onto him, tight and demanding. Haddock thrust faster, elbows propped up on the bed to Tintin's sides, and his labored breaths warmed Tintin's back.

How exquisite and maddening, the sensation of his cock grinding into heated, willing flesh!

„Ahhh", Tintin moaned, starting to squirm, then he arched his bottom closer to Haddock.

The older man leaned back, kneeling on the bed, and pulled Tintin with him. Now he could look down and watch his thick hardness sinking into the lad.

A few more fierce thrusts made Tintin cry out with both pleasure and pain. Holding onto the boy's hips, Haddock spent himself inside him.

.

.

.

to be continued


	9. Epilogue

Haddock watched Tintin's profile. The boy's head rested on the fluffy pillow, cozy and comfortable, and he slept peacefully, undisturbed by the golden lamplight, and apparently unaware of the Captain's presence.

Sometimes Haddock felt as if his heart would have to burst with happiness for having had such outrageous amounts of good luck.  
With just the slightest touch of his fingertips he caressed Tintin's cheek, feeling a tad foolish for watching the boy sleep like that, but infinitely happy. Five months they were together now. He still loved Tintin like a father his son but found that their connection had gained a lot from its new intimate level. And thanks to all Gods in heaven Tintin was happy, too. The boy seemed to crave their sexual union even more than Haddock did.

Tintin had lost old inhibitions, even approaching the Captain by himself sometimes to show him what he wanted and how. At the same time his childlike behaviour had decreased.  
Apparently he was becoming more confident in his adult needs and desires.

And that was wonderful. Haddock adored the sweet little boy Tintin could pretend to be, but to have a partner on the same eye level was without a doubt the more satisfying option.

Perhaps they still could explore the old routine in roleplay from time to time...

Beautiful. So beautiful. Haddock traced a fingertip along Tintin's rosy lips. Asleep, he looked so innocent and vulnerable. Hard to believe that this was the same boy who earlier today had wrapped his legs around and clung to the Captain, screaming and moaning out all that which his former shyness had kept under wraps. Raw lust, turned loose. Years of pent-up energy. Tintin had it in him.

Yes, that boy was a real handful. Haddock smiled. Who would have thought?

He gazed at the lovely sight for another moment before standing up, and turned off the light. "Good night, darling."

Tomorrow was another beautiful day.

.

.

.

The end


End file.
